


in all things

by finchers



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Drugs, Ejaculation, Hair-pulling, Light BDSM, M/M, More tags to be added, PWP, Pseudo-Incest, Slow Burn, elliot really goes ham with the drugs ok, showtunes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-27 00:46:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7596763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finchers/pseuds/finchers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which, Mr. Robot loves show-tunes and Elliot loves drugs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When he stumbles into his apartment at 3:24 AM, the first thing he sees are clothes on the floor. They are dirty and peppered in holes of all shapes and sizes, but they are folded neatly next to a pair of old boots that are equally dusty and worn. Elliot knows who they belong to before he takes another step.

*

He's high, of course. He and Shayla are hanging out about everyday at this point and she has a habit of leaning in close and "accidentally" touching his shoulder, his arm, his thigh while looking into his eyes. He's quickly learned that morphine alone doesn't always do the trick when it comes to blotting away the panic he feels when he senses her sitting closer than usual, so he's been forced to get creative. 

 

Today's cocktail is harder than yesterday's - morphine as a primer, weed, the amuse-bouche, a few lines of coke (he says _a few_ ), and Xanax to mellow and equalize. There may have been molly involved but he's too fucked up to remember much else besides ending up at Shayla's and her apartment smelling like something resembling chlorine, ammonia, and cat piss. At this point, all he can register is masturbating (if he can stand it) and then his bed under him before he does this shit all over again. 

 

He is staring at the ceiling and his head hurts and his hands are shaking like hell and he's half hard without even having to touch himself. Yeah, he definitely had some molly.

 

_"Theeeee hills are alive with the sound of music, with songs they have sung for a thousand yeeeeears."_

Elliot sighs. 

_"The hiiiills fill my heeeeart-"_

"Shut the _fuck_ up!" Elliot screams. 

The singing pauses - and then gets louder. 

_"IF I were a RICH MAN, badda dabba dabba badda dabba badda diddee doo-"_

Elliot gets up too fast and falls back down on his bed, out of balance and feeling like his head is about to explode. The steam from the shower is permeating the room and the heat makes everything seem like just _too much_. 

He gets up slowly with his hands out, clinging to the bed frame and taking steps towards the bathroom. With every note, Mr. Robot's voice is getting louder and louder, surely out of spite, and Elliot is trying to enjoy his high with little to no show-tunes.

 

The door is locked and he bangs on it with all his force which, thanks to the coke, doesn't hurt his knuckles, and within seconds Mr. Robot is standing in front of him in a towel. His hair is dripping and his glasses aren't on so Elliot can see every bit of jubilation in his green (gray?) eyes. He swallows hard as he forces his eyes not to dart down to his chest. 

"Can you please tell me what the fuck is wrong with you?" Elliot says calmly. 

"First of all, you're bleeding, kid. And second, can you please tell me why the fuck _Mamma Mia_ was so good? I was about to sing that next before I was," Mr. Robot looks Elliot up and down, "rudely interrupted." 

Elliot touches his face like it's a foreign object, feeling for the blood, and Mr. Robot is grinning like an idiot as he sidesteps him, heading towards the bedroom. 

Elliot opens his mouth to speak but closes it when Mr. Robot begins to hum a song he doesn't recognize. 

 

"So what have you been up to today?" Mr. Robot projects across the room.

It takes him a second to formulate a response; everything is cloudy and he's still standing in the steam from the bathroom.

"I could ask you the saaame," Elliot slurs as he walks towards the kitchen, looking at Mr. Robot from the corner of his eye. 

 

"Elliot, how much did you do?" Mr. Robot asks, measured and calm. 

There is silence, but Elliot can swear he hears a drumbeat. He takes a sip of water and collapses on the couch. 

He opens one eye slowly and Mr. Robot is standing above him shirtless, his hair messy, with a concerned look in his gray (hazel?) eyes.  
Elliot chuckles and turns over, laughing into the couch cushion and reveling in just how fucked up he is. 

Mr. Robot pulls Elliot's hair so he is looking up at him and Elliot comes. Hard. 

It's loud and unexpected and fucking amazing and Elliot could swear he hears Mr. Robot's breath hitch. 

After it's over, Elliot looks at the wall over Mr. Robot's shoulder and says "Didn't know I was into stuff like that," with a big smile on his face before passing out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- i love the dynamics between elliot and mr. robot  
> \- i won't touch on elliot and mr. robot's... familial connections bc i dont think elliot really sees mr. robot as his dad honestly?? idk  
> \- i like this as a one-shot but i will probably be making this multi chapter ;) (i know you ellibot shippers are still out there *eye emoji*)  
> \- sam esmail if you see this i am sorry


	2. Chapter 2

Elliot has not been back to his apartment in 70 hours, exactly. He has spent the past 2 days and 22 hours wandering the streets of New York with Flipper, crashing on Shayla’s couch, and circling Angela’s apartment, unsure if she would even let him in if he could ever muster up the courage. 

 

He hasn’t had a good meal in just as long and his head permanently aches; eating slices of cold margherita pizza and an infinite amount of hot dogs while feeding the leftovers to Flipper - who doesn’t seem mad about it in the slightest - doesn't pair well with his, now daily, morphine hits. He's dehydrated. He's tired.

 

On the second day, he finds himself in Central Park, his hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets, Flipper yipping incessantly and straining on his leash, clearly wanting to go explore. 

Elliot takes a seat on a park bench next to an old woman and looks down at his shoes and then up at the sky. It’s an overcast day; he can tell it won’t rain any time soon but he wishes it would. He can’t remember a time that he’s ever felt this dirty; he hasn’t changed his clothes, brushed his teeth, or showered in 70 hours. And Mr. Robot--

 

*

 

After blacking out, he woke up the next morning disheveled and alone. His underwear was covered in dried cum and the front of his pants had an obvious damp spot. Mr. Robot was gone and at that exact moment, Elliot was scared because of how much he missed him. He felt ashamed of himself; he felt like a fucking teenager who couldn't control his sex drive and, because of it, frightened away the one person that seemed to like him - not for drugs, or for his "computer skills", but for him. 

 

He left his apartment and and didn't want to come back, didn't want to come back to an empty space, but also didn't want to come back to Mr. Robot sitting on his kitchen counter, or singing _"Don't Cry for Me Argentina"_ in his shower. He wouldn't be able to stand the smug look that would inevitably and permanently be on his face, much less be able to stand looking into his blue (dark brown?) eyes as they flickered over him, questioning, hungry.

 

Elliot mentally slaps himself. 

 

He has been pushing down, repressing - straight up ignoring - everything that happened 70 hours ago. He couldn't wrap his head around why his body would...betray him like that but more importantly, he doesn't understand why literally one touch by Mr. Robot made him-

 

Elliot physically slaps himself. 

 

The old lady sitting next to him looks over, alarmed. 

 

"Mosquito," Elliot says dumbly, not making eye contact. 

He looks down at Flipper instead. He's enthusiastic as ever, his tail wagging and his ears perked. 

Elliot sighs and reaches down to pet him, when, almost out of thin air, Mr. Robot is there, not more than 10 feet away. 

He's there and his eyes are green and Elliot's chest suddenly feels very tight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is so short and has like no smut i'm so sorry I will not disappoint for next chapter ok  
> is flipper a boy? i literally don't know hahaha  
> comments and constructive criticism are appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

Elliot runs. He can’t even pinpoint when he decided to, but he does, Flipper running after him as if he expected this and was simply waiting for Elliot to begin.

 

Mr. Robot does not run after him.

 

*

 

Elliot enters his apartment and goes straight into the bathroom. He looks at himself in the mirror and analyzes the damage; his hair is greasy and stringy and he has a 5 o’clock shadow that does not complement him in the slightest. His eyes are bloodshot, yet somehow glassy, and, well, he smells like shit.

 

For a second, he can’t even get himself to peel the clothes off his body and enter the shower; he feels utterly out of breath and exhausted. He hates moments like this, when all of life hits him at the exact same time and all he can do is sit there and take it. He slides down the wall until he’s in the fetal position on the cold tile of his bathroom floor. He can't get Mr. Robot out of his fucking head. Behind his eyelids, all he sees are hands and a mouth and eyes, and all he can think is how fucking _good_ it felt when he pulled his hair.

 

*

 

He wakes up and the entire left part of his mouth is caked in dried drool. His head hurts like hell but he shoots up quickly, grabbing his sink for support and getting to his feet. He leaves his bathroom tentatively to check the clock in his room and it’s just after 7 PM. He breathes out, allayed - Mr. Robot is not there waiting for him.

 

For the first time in days, Elliot relaxes. He goes to fill Flipper's water bowl and consciously tries to pace his breathing as he walks over. He contemplates getting high but decides it would be better to just take a shower and then go get an actual dinner. He plugs in his phone to charge and the screen lights up within seconds, signaling that it has come back to life. Elliot leans against the wall and thinks. It had been a while since he and Angela had spoken and if she came with him to dinner tonight, he thinks he would enjoy the company. He walks towards his bathroom but then reconsiders the not getting high thing. Weed is like, scientifically proven to make food taste better, right?

 

After his shower, he feels like himself again. He leaves feeling significantly better than he did 20 minutes ago and he decides that he doesn't need the high. He puts on an old shirt from college and a clean hoodie and dark blue skinny jeans and he feels good. He looks in the mirror to shave his "beard" and then moves to gel his hair but decides against it. He's always been self conscious of his natural hair; countless people had told him that his curls were "beautiful" but he couldn't understand how that could be true. "Beautiful" was a hard word for him to understand at all.

-

Elliot had been at a New Year's Eve party a few years ago with Angela, and this guy he didn't know spent the whole night flirting with him. They ended up sharing a few drunken kisses and Elliot gave him a handjob on the balcony, and the whole time the guy breathed "You're so beautiful, so beautiful" over and over. Elliot still jerks off to that now and then, when he's feeling particularly shameful.

- 

 

He decides to leave his hair curly and tousled, even though his hands are literally quivering to fix it. Elliot likes when he can decide against what his brain wants to do.

 

*

 

He walks to Dinah's Bakery and Diner with his headphones in, listening to a song that he doesn't really recognize. He goes to change the song and a joint falls out of his hoodie pocket. He looks around frantically but thankfully, no one is nearby enough to have possibly seen it. He looks at the joint carefully and his hands begin to shake again.

 

He walks towards a man in a freshly dry cleaned suit (Elliot knows this because the tag is still on his suit jacket), bums a lighter from him, and lights the joint.

 

"You have one to spare?" the man says.

 

"No, I don't." Elliot says, handing the lighter back to him.

 

The man takes it back and his face has twisted into an ugly expression.

 

Elliot doesn't know what to do so he nods twice and keeps walking. He puts his hood up and tries to keep his head down so no one notices him, while bringing the joint to his lips and inhaling. He stops in the street to savor this, and holds the smoke in his mouth before exhaling.

 

Shit.

 

*

 

15 minutes later, he's high and nowhere near the diner. He doesn't even know where he is but he feels amazing anyway, weightless and airy and safe even though the sun is setting and he lives in one of the shittiest neighborhoods in New York. Elliot runs his hands through his hair and swings his arms; he walks in circles for a bit, ignoring the fact that he probably looks crazy.

 

Elliot likes getting high because he can feel the coolness of everything around him. When he's sober, he is always hot and jittery and he feels like he sweats through all of his clothes within seconds. Everything in his mind is an exclamation point and everything is urgent, everything is permanently  _now, now, now_ and he can barely breathe because every second is a suffocation. When he's high, he doesn't have to feel anything that he doesn't want to. When he's high, everyone is always laughing with him, not at him, and he can laugh along with them without wanting to kill himself.

 

"Elliot?"

 

He turns around slowly and Mr. Robot is standing in front of him and Elliot couldn't be happier.

 

Elliot begins to walk around him in circles and Mr. Robot looks at him like he's a child.

 

"You're high, aren't you?" Mr. Robot asks, but instead of it coming out like a question, he says it like he knows and he's just waiting for Elliot to admit it to himself.

 

"How could you ever think such a thing?" Elliot says coyly. He stops walking and goes to sit on the steps in front of a townhouse. He jiggles his foot and squints up at Mr. Robot, as if he were looking at the sun.

 

Mr. Robot takes off his hat and runs a hand through his hair and sighs before sitting with Elliot on the steps.

 

"Do you always need to be high, Elliot? Is it absolutely _necessary_ that you be fucking stoned every time I see you?" He doesn't stop for Elliot to answer. "Because if you're not high, you're freezing to death in Central Park, looking fucking emaciated and strung out. Where does it end with you? Do I need to _sit_ on you like a fucking mama bird?"

 

They are sitting there in silence for a few seconds before Mr. Robot puts a hand on Elliot's leg to get him to stop shaking.

 

Elliot could swear he lingered, but he's too stoned to tell. Regardless, he doesn't even get to enjoy it before Mr. Robot is above him, offering an outstretched hand.

 

"Come on," he says, "let's get some food in you."

 

Elliot takes his hand but the second Mr. Robot lets go, he shoves both hands back in his pockets. His hands are burning and he feels the heat begin to flood his body again.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so remember when i said "i wouldnt disappoint with smut for this chapter" guess who disappointed  
> sorry i guess i just decided to make this fic a bit more slow burn?? pls dont kill me  
> comments and constructive criticism are appreciated :)


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